


shooting stars in a jar

by watermelonp00fs



Category: Daredevil (TV), The Punisher (TV 2017)
Genre: F/M, post season 1 spoilers (The Punisher)
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-11-25
Updated: 2017-11-25
Packaged: 2019-02-06 15:19:29
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,281
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/12820362
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/watermelonp00fs/pseuds/watermelonp00fs
Summary: Frank doesn’t visit Karen, after. Not really. But the flowers are there by her window — everyday, for weeks, months — until one day they aren’t. She’s stopped going to the river for a while now, too. Not that he blames her for it. Cut the threads loose, toss the baggage she’s carried all this time into the goddamn ocean —He’s alright with it, all of it.Then, one evening she goes home with a man he’s never laid eyes on, carefree laughs and cheeky smiles — and Frank should be,mustbe alright with this because God knows she deserves happiness that he cannot interfere with —Except he isn’t.





	shooting stars in a jar

**Author's Note:**

> Post season 1 of The Punisher. My (other) take on what happens after.

Frank doesn’t visit Karen, after. Not really.

The scores have been settled — for now, after all the shit from his shoe has been scrubbed away. But if there’s anything Frank’s learned from recent events, it’s that there’s always a crazy son of a bitch somewhere skulking in a corner, biding his time until he decides one day that it’s a good day to open people’s heads up in the streets just to get back at Frank Castle.

And Frank’s not ready to bring Karen into all that bullshit again, probably never will be.

So he observes from afar, learns Karen’s routine so he’ll always be around when she leaves the New York Bulletin to go home in the evenings. It’s times like these he almost wishes that he took up Lieberman’s offer to set up cameras in her apartment for a peace of mind. Frank said no, though — he wouldn’t go _that_ far, not yet. One could only imagine what Karen Page would do if — when she finds them. It’s not worth the risk, not to Frank. It would be one stupid way to lose her and that’s something he won’t ever be ready for.

She goes to the river sometimes, in quiet evenings when the world’s hushed up like it’s taking a breather from war. She waits with a coffee in hand, gazes at the lights in the sky. She waits there for fifteen minutes, half an hour, even an hour one time — before she sighs, head low like she’s slowly losing pieces of herself, and hails a cab to go home.

And Frank wants to step out of the shadows so she can see him and take him into her arms. He wants it _so bad_. Fuck, he’s almost done it once, on a day where he was barely hanging on a thread because there’s just too much left to say — 

But he doesn’t; maybe he’s a goddamn masochist.

There are worse things to be. 

* * *

Karen leaves the flowers by her window everyday, flowers he gave her in what seemed like three lifetimes ago.

Frank sees that they are still in pristine condition, petals bright like they’ve never seen a better tomorrow and leaves as green as the day he gave them to her.

The flowers are there by her window, for weeks, months —

— until one day, they aren’t.

She’s stopped going to the river for a while now, too. Not that he blames her for it. Cut the threads loose, toss the baggage she’s carried all this time into the goddamn ocean —

He’s alright with it, all of it. 

And then one day, when Frank’s doing his usual rounds of scouting around Karen’s apartment in the purple light of dusk, she comes home with a man Frank’s never set eyes on before, carefree laughs and cheeky smiles —

Frank should be alright with this, _must_ be alright with this because God knows she deserves happiness that he has no right to interfere with —

Except he isn’t.

* * *

“Something’s bugging you today, and it’s not just anything either. It’s something — big,” Lieberman points out, not quite helpfully, as he squints at Frank above his steaming mug of coffee.

Frank’s eye twitches and he says nothing. He glares at pedestrians through the windows that walk past the diner. A woman who passes by flinches away and continues walking, so he trains his gaze on Lieberman instead, figures that he’s probably one of the few people who’s already used to being subject to Frank’s glower. 

“Ah, it must be pretty big then,” Lieberman continues, leaning in with such an infuriating curiosity that Frank wants to slap the mug off his hands. “What is it that’s got you all tense, huh?”

A few seconds flit by before Frank manages: “Karen brought a — she brought a man home last night.”

The look that Lieberman gives him is nothing short of incredulous. “You’re still _watching_ her? That’s not — that’s not healthy, man.”

“Pipe the _fuck_ down, Lieberman,” Frank seethes.

Lieberman continues, albeit in a lower voice. “Are you insane, Frank? Wait, don’t answer that.”

“You — you, of all people, cannot say that to me after you watched your family with bullshit hidden cameras for God knows how long —”

David holds his hands up, apologetic. “Alright alright alright. I can’t judge.”

“You’re goddamn right you can’t.”

Lieberman leans back on his chair. “What are you going to do about it, Frank?”

“What can I do about it, huh? Maybe I should just waltz up to her door and go, ‘Hey, Karen, sorry for not dropping by for seven months but I’m here now because you came home with some piece of shit and I—’” He stops himself there, slams a hand on the table so hard that the plates rattle on the surface.

Lieberman apologises to other customers that are glaring at them at the interruption that Frank doesn’t give a rat’s ass about. He turns back to Frank and says, “You remember once you told me that Karen is like, like family to you? You love her, right?” Frank shoots him a look at that and David continues: “You don’t just let that go.”

And Frank remembers that one night in that diner, with Karen across the table, her heart open and bleeding for someone who could never give her what she wanted. 

_Hold on to it. Use two hands and never let go,_ he’d told her then. 

Look where it got her.

But Red’s a goddamn martyr, so goddamn sanctimonious that the thought of Frank hurting Karen like Red did makes him want to vomit —

Oh, but Frank already is hurting her. Maybe he’s just like Red. Maybe it’s the way things are meant to be. “She’s not safe with me. You know I could get her killed, like, like —” The words are caught in his throat, struggles in it like they’re too raw with hurt.

“Frank,” David says quietly. “I understand why you’re, why you’re worried, alright? Hell I’ve been through all that not too long ago, myself. But it’s been what, more than six months now and there’s been nothing. Nothing. And you know that I’d be the first to know if someone wants to stir things up. If you’re gonna keep torturing yourself over the smallest possibility of someone getting to Karen, then by all means do us all a favour: get the hell away from her and never look back. Do you want that?”

_Fuck, no._

It’s as though Lieberman hears that, because he says: “You know what to do then, buddy.”

So Frank stands up, lays some cash on the table for their meals before he turns around to leave.

“Frank,” Lieberman calls out. Frank stops and glances at him. “My offer still stands, by the way.”

He scoffs, and flips David off.

* * *

Frank spends the next few days weighing his options.

Needless to say, the one that appeals to him the most is where he shows up to that guy’s place, puts his head through the wall a few times until he gets the message.

Karen probably wouldn’t appreciate that, though, so he doesn’t do it.

So Frank bides his time, waits for the right moment to visit her as he ignores the million different scenarios running through his head like a motion picture from the ‘20s.

The sun goes down, envelopes the city in orange-purple in its descent. Karen’s home now, with the guy behind her as she unlocks the door. She’s shrugging off the guy playfully as he plants little kisses along the back of her neck and it makes Frank see red. He has half a mind to walk up right there and put the little shit through the lamp post —

He doesn’t, of course.

Thirty minutes pass as Frank leans back against the rails on the rooftop that oversees Karen’s apartment —

A gunshot rips through the air like lightning across the sky. It takes him less than a second to realise that it’s from her place —

_Fuck, no, no no no —_

He makes his way down the building, tears down everything in his path as his mind devices up a hundred ways he’s going to make the piece of shit wish he’d never been born —

He climbs up the side of the building and launches himself onto her fire escape. _Karen_ , he wants to call out, but the word stumbles on his tongue.

Karen’s standing there in her living room, eyes wild with her .380 in hand. Frank follows her gaze and sees a bullet hole on the wall across from her. Frank scans her body quickly for any injuries. Not a scratch. Good. His shoulders relax a little.

There’s no one else in her apartment either, though by the way her door is standing ajar, it tells Frank that whoever was in her living room has made a run for it. Probably because of the gun Karen’s just fired. 

Attagirl.

“Frank?” Karen says it in a breath that leaves her like she can’t believe he’s right in front of her. “What are you — what are you doing here?” She tucks the gun back into her purse, cheeks flushed. She’s wearing this pretty white dress, soft and light and Frank wonders if she wore it for the guy who came home with her —

Frank walks into the living room, gestures to the bullet hole with a slight tilt of his head. “That your damage control?”

Karen gives a low laugh that doesn’t quite reflect amusement. “Yeah, the son of a bitch had it coming.” She looks at Frank, and there’s an unspoken question in the air that he doesn’t ask, but Karen answers anyway: “And no, I wasn’t aiming for him. It was just to — to scare him off.”

“What’d he do?” It’s a pointless question because Frank already knows the answer. He wants to hear it anyway. Wants to hear it from Karen so later tonight he can hunt down the shit stain and make him eat what he deserves.

“Another guy who can’t take no for an answer, I guess,” she says with a shrug. Something on his face must’ve betrayed his intentions because she adds, “Don’t get any fancy ideas, Frank. I’m pretty sure he’s never gonna even touch me with a ten-foot pole from here on out.”

“He’s gonna get what’s coming for him, Karen.”

“Frank. Please.” The frustration in her voice is thick, like lava seeping through cracks. “You don’t get to just disappear for half a year then suddenly show up in my life, wanting to save me or whatever. I don’t need you — I don’t need you to fight my battles, okay?”

Her voice breaks and that’s when he notices the tears in her eyes. The first sob escapes her throat and it sends his world reeling off its axis. “Karen,” he pleads, steps forward a little. “Karen, I —”

“ _No,_ ” she snaps, hot tears streaming down her cheeks. “You — you don’t get to do this, Frank. Not anymore.”

So he remains still, with her just beyond his reach and it _hurts_ because all he wants in the world is to — “Hey,” he whispers, and Karen turns away, body shuddering with sobs. He walks towards her, slowly, and when she doesn’t back away it’s like his world is slowly becoming right again — and he closes the distance and takes her into his arms. “I’m sorry, Karen. I’m so sorry.” He breathes her in; she smells like lavender and mint and the city’s heart and it’s the best thing in the world —

And her body shakes in his embrace like she’s going to break under his touch. His hold tightens. 

When she speaks, her voice is small and thick as her lips brush against his collarbone, “Where’ve you been, Frank?”

_I’ve been too goddamn stupid to see that I should’ve been here with you._

“Uh, just — around. Keeping you safe.” It’s all he can manage right now. 

Her body jerks a little, like she’s letting out a bitter chuckle. “You’ve been watching, huh. Jesus Christ, Frank.”

“Yeah. I’ve heard that from someone else, too.” He runs a hand through her hair, soft blonde locks like silk in his palm. “I thought you’d be — you’d be angry about that when you found out.”

She pulls away and wipes a hand across her cheeks. “Yeah, me too honestly. Maybe I will eventually, when this all sinks in. Right now, I’m just — ” she laughs, “I’m just happy to see you.”

_Yeah, it’s good to see you too._

They stand in silence for a while, shifting on their feet. Karen looks at him with those blue eyes that he loves, with a small smile playing on her lips like she can’t quite believe this is happening and _God_ he’s missed her so much.

“Want a beer?” she asks, already walking to her fridge to pull out two bottles.

So they spend the evening sharing drinks and stories, basking in the comfort of each other’s company — and Frank wonders why he ever thought it was a good idea to stay away from her because this — _she_ is the best thing that’s happened to him after Maria and —

_Hold on to it. Use two hands and never let go._

“I don’t want to lose you, ever again,” Karen says late into the night, after he kisses her in the muted glow of street lights through windows. Her lips taste like salt and strawberries and faith and he never wants anything else ever again —

So there’s no hesitation when he promises: “You won’t.” The conviction in his words chases the ache away in his chest until it’s replaced by the entirety of her —

“Okay,” Karen agrees.

“Okay.”

 


End file.
